


Hold Your Fire

by commoncomitatus



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commoncomitatus/pseuds/commoncomitatus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set a day or two before the opening scene of "No Pain, No Gain". An unfortunate incident in Japan leaves Myka and Claudia both feeling helpless, but for different reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Your Fire

Thankfully for both of them, it happened in the relative privacy of their hotel room.

Claudia was rather more enthusiastic about Japanese culture (or, at least, her interpretation of ‘Japanese culture’, which was somewhat questionable) than Myka herself was, and she couldn’t quite figure out whether that was the unfortunate bi-product of her still being relatively new to the practice of overseas missions, or whether she had just picked up a quirky infatuation with the country and all the absurdities that came with it. It seemed to be the ‘cool thing’ for people around her age – manga and surrealistic horror movies and other such creepy weirdness that Myka couldn’t help thinking was a little unhealthy as a source of obsession in impressionable young people – and, though Claudia prided herself on keeping a safe distance from what she (in her charming delusion) called the ‘mainstream’, Myka knew that, as far as post-teenage youth went, she wasn’t nearly so unique as she liked to think she was.

Not that she’d ever say it, of course. Claudia still had a lot of herself to find before she would accept that the world wasn’t so black-and-white as ‘cool’ and ‘trendy’, and Myka knew well enough that she’d just have to let the self-discovery come naturally. There was no harm in it, anyway, and if Claudia wanted to make believe that her fascination with Japanese so-called ‘culture’ spawned from a professional Warehouse-style interest in ‘immersion for the sake of the mission’, Myka wasn’t going to burst her bubble by burdening her with the truth.

As it was, they’d just finished eating a clichéd dinner of room-service sushi (“it’s the culture!”, Claudia had insisted, and Myka hadn’t had the heart to point out that, just because Hollywood said it was, that didn’t make it true), and had settled down (on the floor, again at Claudia’s urging) to watch some surreal animated movie. Apparently, this was also a part of the so-called ‘culture’, though Myka had her doubts about that. Claudia was rather adorably invested in the thing, though, and Myka didn’t really want to have to deal with the inevitable kicked-puppy look on her face if she pointed out the fact that they weren’t really ‘absorbing Japanese culture’, so much as... well, sitting on the floor and watching cartoons.

That said, and for all that she really didn’t want to hurt Claudia’s feelings with little things like honesty and realism, Myka couldn’t quite keep herself from passing occasional comment on the sheer absurdity of what they were supposed to be ‘absorbing’.

“Really, Claud?” she demanded; she’d promised that she’d ‘give it a shot’, taking Claudia at her word that she’d ‘appreciate its artistic merit’ if she just ‘opened her mind’, but it took less than five minutes to realise that it was a lost cause. The damn thing simply didn’t make any sense, and Myka simply wasn’t the sort of cultural connoisseur that Claudia wanted to think she was.

“Myka...” Claudia whined just the same, as though turning her voice up an octave would somehow change everything.

“I’m serious!” She gestured exaggeratedly at the screen with both arms, almost losing her balance in the process. “I mean, look at it! That ‘sword’—” She mimed quote-marks around the word, for reasons that would be quite clear from a moment’s glance at the ‘weapon’ in question “—defies the laws of physics! And not in the good way!”

“It’s anime, Myka.” Claudia sighed. “We’ve been through this like ten times already. It’s supposed to—”

“Yes, yes,” Myka said quickly, because she really didn’t want to go through it for an eleventh. “It’s supposed to be ‘symbolic’. Which, uh, clearly it is.” She was pretty sure that she didn’t want to know whether it was Claudia’s inherent innocence making her blind to what was so obviously right in front of her, or whether she knew perfectly well what they were looking at and was playing dumb just to make Myka even more uncomfortable than she already was. “And, okay, while we’re on the subject of so-called ‘symbolism’... what in the world are those cat things supposed to ‘symbolise’? And why do those two guys have wings?”

“Oh my god, Myka, I’ve explained this!” Claudia threw up her hands, though whether it was in a gesture of surrender or one of disgust, Myka couldn’t quite tell. “It’s an important plot point, okay? They’re all important plot points!” She rolled her eyes, then dismissed the issue with a wave and a smirk. “And anyway... wings are totally hot. Don’tcha think?”

Myka twitched. “No!” she cried. “No, Claud, I do not think... I mean... you can’t seriously...”

“Hey,” Claudia retorted, sounding sickeningly smug. “Don’t criticise ’em till you’ve tried ’em.”

Myka decided that it was better to not ask. “There is something very, very wrong with you.”

Claudia laughed and leaned back a little, shifting expertly on her haunches. Myka couldn’t help feeling a little jealous at the way she stayed perfectly balanced; notwithstanding the fact that it would have been typically Claudia if she’d fallen over, of course, Myka was fairly sure that she herself wouldn’t have been nearly so graceful if she’d tried to reposition herself like that on the uncomfortable floor. Not that she had any intention of putting the theory to the test, of course, but even so, it hardly seemed fair that Claudia, the single most uncoordinated human being she’d ever met (and yes, that included Pete) was better at this stuff than she was.

For a moment or two, it looked like Claudia was going to add insult to injury, to press on and reiterate all the ridiculous plot points she’d already elucidated ten times already (and Myka really didn’t want to know how she knew the entire plot of this stupid thing so intimately when it had barely started). She looked at her, a little bit thoughtful and a lot devious, and took in a breath... but somewhere between opening her mouth and forming actual words, she seemed to think better of it, and opted for just shooting Myka a withering half-glare and returning her attention to the television.

Myka, for her part, voiced her relief at this decision by murmuring an exaggeratedly dramatic prayer of thanks to the god of winged cartoon characters.

That was when it happened.

There was no warning. No hint, however subtle, that something might be wrong. No sign or symptom. Nothing at all. It was quicker than lightning, and even more terrifying: one moment Claudia was nestled comfortably next to her, studying the characters on the screen like they were delivering a political speech, and the next she was pitching forward, bent double in the half-second before she hit the floor, and making some of the most helplessly agony-rent sounds that Myka had ever heard.

“Claud?!”

“...ohmygod...” Claudia choked. Or tried to choke, anyway; in practice, it seemed that speech was too much for her to manage just then, and the barely-formed syllables trailed off into little more than a gagging whimper.

“Claud!” Myka cried again, a little more harshly than she’d intended this time, as the worry surged in time with Claudia’s suffering. “Claud! Talk to me! What is it?”

But, of course, Claudia still couldn’t talk, and the only response that Myka could force out of her was another heaving gasp as she struggled impossibly for oxygen.

She couldn’t breathe, Myka realised, and her blood ran cold with something that was skirting dangerously close to panic. Claudia, who had been fine just a moment ago, was suddenly in so much pain that she couldn’t even breathe, and there was nothing Myka could do about it except sit there, dumbstruck, and watch her suffer.

It was Steve, she thought numbly, as her mind clutched at reason and rationality even in the haze of fear and Claudia’s gagging. It had to be Steve.

Hating herself for what she was about to do (what she needed to do, for the good of them both), she rested a tentative hand on Claudia’s shaking shoulder. “Claud?”

Claudia choked, wheezing desperately through tightly-clenched teeth. “...M... My...”

Myka grimaced. “Claud, I... I have to go make a call. It’s really important.”

Claudia’s whole body jolted into violent spasms, the sharpness wrenching her shoulder out of Myka’s grasp as she heaved and whimpered again. She managed one more rasping “...My...”, the half-syllable shot through with raw-throated desperation, then gave up the fight for speech and breath entirely. Myka watched her back shudder and tighten, every muscle visible through the fabric of her shirt as they clenched and twitched, and she closed her eyes against a wave of sudden self-loathing.

“I’ll only be a minute,” she said. “I promise. Just... just hold on, okay?”

Claudia didn’t say anything to that, seeming to exert all her efforts just in staying conscious, and, feeling like a truly horrible person, Myka swept hastily to her feet.

She took refuge in the empty corridor outside, keeping the door open just far enough that she could keep one eye on Claudia from where she stood, close enough that she could dive back in if she was needed, while still keeping enough of a barrier for the privacy she knew she and Steve would need for this conversation.

The fact that Pete was the one who answered, when she was finally able to extricate her Farnsworth from her pocket, wasn’t surprising, but the look on his face most definitely was.

_“Hey, Mykes!”_

He didn’t look particularly panic-stricken, or even really very worried at all. He sure as hell didn’t look like someone who was in the midst of dealing with an emergency, or someone who’d been hanging out with the guy who’d just sustained enough of an injury to send his telepathically-linked best friend into writhing spasms of agony. He just looked... well, like Pete.

No, she realised a moment later. Not just like Pete. She knew that look on his face all too well, the glow of smug amusement that was nearly blinding even through the grainy grey Farnsworth screen. This wasn’t just Pete, she thought. This was the very worst kind of Pete. This was a self-satisfied Pete.

“What have you done?” she demanded, before she could stop herself.

_“What’cha talkin’ about?”_ he shot back, and his proud smirk got wider.

“Peeete...” She narrowed her eyes, then dove in. “...where’s Steve?”

If possible, the grin got even bigger. He was starting to look like a kid at Christmas, and Myka was more sure now than she’d ever been of anything in her life that he’d done something unspeakably awful.

_“Don’t sweat it,”_ he beamed, and Myka could tell that he knew precisely how much his obnoxious attitude was annoying her; she couldn’t help thinking that, if he had any idea about the link between Steve and Claudia, he wouldn’t be so quick to laugh and joke about it. _“Dude’s right over there.”_

Myka took a breath, refusing to let him see how frightened she really was. “Can you put him on, please?” she asked, hoping that he’d read the rising pitch of her voice as trademark irritation at his stupid boyishness. When he didn’t answer fast enough, she glared, shoving her face right up into the screen. “Now, Pete! This is important!”

From inside the room, Claudia affirmed the point with a low moan.

The sound, weak and thick with pain, sparked another fearful jolt in Myka’s chest, and Pete must have seen the worry surfacing on her face (clearly, he knew her too well), because suddenly he wasn’t playing around any more. _“Mykes?”_ he said again, uncharacteristically serious all of a sudden. _“Mykes, what’s goin’ on?”_

Myka glared. “Just put Steve on!” she barked, then forced herself to soften. “Please, Pete.”

_“Okay...”_ he said. _“But, hey, Mykes, you might not get much sense outta him.”_ For just a heartbeat, that self-satisfied smirk was back, though he didn’t seem quite so cocky as he had just a moment earlier. _“Dude kinda sorta might have just taken a baseball right in the—”_

“Pete!”

And then, all of a sudden, everything made a horrible, terrible, awful amount of sense.

She cut another glance back into the room, let herself study the curve of Claudia’s back, a perfect arc where she was still curling in on herself, and, though she knew the poor young woman was no doubt suffering a great deal, she still felt her knees come close to buckling with relief and near-delirious amusement. A little pain, she knew, Claudia could handle, so long as it wasn’t lethal. And, however excruciatingly painful a baseball to the... well, ‘baseball’... was, it was most certainly not lethal.

Still, though, it had to hurt. A lot. And for that, she heard herself muttering, before she could stop herself, and right into the Farnsworth, “I’m going to kill him.”

Pete blinked up at her. _“Dude, Mykes...”_ he said, voice low with the kind of confusion that made it obvious he genuinely had no idea how far-reaching this innocuous baseball mishap really was. _“I know it’s a rookie move and all... but don’tcha think he’s suffered enough?”_

“Not even close,” Myka answered pointedly. “Just put him on.”

_“Hey, hey, hey...”_ Seemingly feeling obliged to play the devil’s advocate for the sake of his fellow male, Pete held one hand up in front of the screen, like that would somehow manage to stall her. _“I dunno what he did to piss you off, but go easy. Bad enough getting yelled at by you, even on a good day, but gettin’ yelled at with a busted junk?”_ He shuddered dramatically. _“That’s just cruel, Mykes.”_

“I’m well aware,” she said.

_“So cut the dude some slack, yeah? You chicks got no idea how bad that crap hurts.”_

Myka snorted. “Right...”

_“Whatever,”_ Pete said, clearly getting bored with this conversation now that he’d made the token gesture of trying to defend his ‘home-boy’ or whatever ridiculous nickname he’d come up with this week. Finally, he turned to shout over his shoulder, presumably to where Steve was huddled. _“Hey, no-nuts! Myka wants to talk to you!”_

So much for ‘cutting the dude some slack’, Myka thought irritably, cringing at the crudeness. Apparently, that kind of compassion didn’t extend to Y chromosomes.

There was a brief off-screen exchange, mostly consisting of a smug _“Good thing you don’t want kids, huh?”_ from Pete, followed by a tight-lipped _“Yeah, you better run...”_ from Steve, presumably as Pete ducked out of reach, and then his face was finally filling the tiny black-and-white screen.

It bothered her that he could still breathe. She didn’t really know how the metronome worked – how much of the pain was shared, or transferred, or... well, anything at all, really – but she knew that Claudia was still writhing on the floor in uncontrollable agony and Steve was most decidedly not, and that was enough to tell her that he’d gotten the better end of this particular deal. It was enough to raise her blood even more than it already was, and she had to remind herself to breathe too, before she said something she’d regret.

Still, though, she couldn’t quite keep from demanded, in a voice that was probably shrill enough to hurt his ears (poor baby), “Steve! What the hell?”

_“It wasn’t my fault!”_ he squeaked; his voice was definitely higher than usual, she noted with some not-quite satisfaction, and it made his would-be defence sound hollow and futile. He looked upset, too, tormented in a way that Myka could see had nothing to do with his groin and everything to do with Claudia’s. _“He got me when I wasn’t looking...”_

“What were you doing playing baseball with him in the first place?!” Myka demanded. “You know what he’s like! Dammit, Steve, what were you thinking?”

_“I dunno,”_ he grunted miserably. _“Maybe that friends don’t hit friends in the privates with baseballs when they’re not looking?”_

Myka sighed. “You know what he’s like, Steve. You know he’s an oversized three-year-old!”

_“Yeah,”_ he interrupted. _“Yeah. I know. Okay? I know.”_ He was starting to sound angry too, but Myka could tell that it wasn’t directed at her. _“You think that wasn’t my first thought when it happened? You think I don’t feel horrible about it? You think I don’t hate myself right now? I’m supposed to be protecting her, and then I just let this...”_ He trailed off, eyes wet and sad, and took a steadying breath. _“Is she all right?”_

Myka didn’t bother sugar-coating it; he didn’t deserve that. “Not really.”

Steve sighed. _“I’m sorry,”_ he said. _“I’m so, so sorry...”_

Though she ached to still be furious with him, Myka nodded. “I know.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them he looked a little more like himself. Still tortured, but at least tortured in a way that she recognised. _“Lesson learned,”_ he said softly, like that would somehow undo what had happened. _“I guess baseball’s off-limits too.”_

“Guess so,” Myka said, then softened. What was done was done, and he was clearly beating himself up hard enough about this; he didn’t need her adding to his misery, or to whatever amount of the physical pain he might have been sharing. “For what it’s worth,” she added gently. “Knowing Claudia, she’ll probably find this whole thing hilarious when she finds out...”

_“Don’t tell her!”_ Steve yelped squeakily, though he must’ve realised that she wasn’t going to. _“I mean... I know she needs to know, and I’ll tell her. I will. I just need to...”_

“I know,” Myka said again. “Don’t worry. That’s your story to tell. I’m not getting involved.”

The look on his face then matched almost exactly the soul-shaking relief that she herself had felt when she’d realised what had happened and that it wasn’t even remotely life-threatening.

_“Thanks,”_ he said simply. _“You’re a friend.”_

Myka shook her head, sombre again in a heartbeat. “I’m Claudia’s friend too, Steve,” she reminded him. “And if you do anything like this again, Pete’s baseballs will be the least of your problems.”

_“Trust me,”_ he said sorrowfully, _“I know.”_

“Good,” she said quietly, and let it drop.

She was being unfair, and she knew it. It had been an accident, a fleeting moment of bad judgement and Pete being Pete. She knew Steve; not as well as Claudia did, of course, but she knew him well enough, and she knew how careful he had been lately. She knew how hard he’d been trying to keep Claudia safe from exactly this sort of thing. She knew there was nobody in the world to be trusted more than Steve when it came to doing what was right by Claudia, even at the cost of his own comfort, his own happiness... so she had to believe that he really and truly hadn’t imagined the possibility that this might have happened.

And, really, she did believe him. She honestly, genuinely did... but seeing Claudia in the state she was in, prostrate and in pain, so much so that she couldn’t even breathe, and knowing that there was nothing she could do about it, knowing that it was Steve’s fault and she’d just have to watch as it ripped through her friend... it broke her apart. And, for all that she knew Steve wouldn’t have even thought of playing a game if he’d thought for even a moment that anything like this to happen, she needed to vent her helpless frustration somewhere.

Because, when he’d shared his burden with her, she hadn’t thought of this. She’d thought about him, mostly, about the look on his face when he’d talked about taking himself off the metronome, the way he’d been willing to kill himself, without a second thought, before letting any harm come to Claudia, about the terror she’d felt in her own heart at the idea of losing him again. He’d been right there, sitting in front of her, and all she’d been able to think about was how she couldn’t lose him again, how she wouldn’t let Claudia lose him again, how she could no more face the thought of hearing her screams again than she could face the thought of seeing his body. It had been all she could think about when he’d told her, and there hadn’t been enough left in her horror-struck soul to think of the possibility of something like this.

So maybe they were both to blame a little bit, she herself as much as he was, because she hadn’t thought about it either. She had been so quick to insist that he stay on the metronome, so quick to assume they’d find another way, a better way she simply hadn’t thought of the possibility that something like this might happen before that did. She hadn’t thought. Not for a moment. She hadn’t thought at all.

Steve seemed to understand her inner conflict, though, and Myka supposed it was only natural that he would. He had been dealing with this on his own for some time already, and that was without taking into account the depth of his friendship with Claudia, the emotional bond between them that meant so much, even before this, that she’d risked everything in the world for a chance to bring him back.

Myka’s heart hurt, for both of them, and she could see the same dull ache – a kind of pain that was anything but physical – reflected tenfold in Steve’s strain-lined eyes.

It was almost more than she could stand, seeing the weight he was carrying, and she was just about to close the Farnsworth and go back to the unhappy task of dealing with Claudia when he stopped her in her tracks with a hastily-blurted squeak of her name.

“Hm?” she asked.

_“Take care of her...”_ he pleaded, sounding broken, stripped bare right down to his soul.

He looked so lost, so hopelessly frightened for his friend, so utterly wretched that it was all Myka could do to mumble a barely-audible promise that she would (of course she would), and it wasn’t until the screen went dark that she realised she had no idea how in the world she was supposed to do that. Taking care of Claudia was a difficult enough task anyway, what with the young woman’s stubborn refusal to be helped even when she already knew what was wrong... but to have to keep her condition secret as well? That was bordering on utterly impossible.

And, honestly, even if it had been an easier task, Myka was hardly the most nurturing soul in the world to begin with. Where was Helena’s maternal instincts when they needed them?

Claudia was still reeling when she stepped back into the room. She hadn’t moved, and her shoulders were still shuddering, the taut muscles in her back looking almost ready to snap. Myka felt a sympathetic pulse in her chest, an echo of what she’d felt when she’d looked at Steve, and braced herself for a moment or two before crossing back to Claudia’s side.

“Claud?”

Apparently, her condition had improved a little, if not visibly, because this time she managed Myka’s name almost in its entirety.

“It’s all right, Claud,” Myka said, with as much gentleness as she’d ever been able to muster. “I’m right here.”

“Myka...” Claudia whined again; she sounded hoarse and sickly, like she’d been punched in the gut, and Myka found herself having to bite down on a violent wave of emotion. “...hurts.”

Given what Myka now knew, she supposed that was probably the understatement of the decade. Still, though, she ran with it, and wrapped herself up in a smothering blanket of feigned ignorance because that was the only thing she was allowed to do. “What is it?”

Claudia tried to pull herself up a little, bracing on her arms. It was futile, though, and she fell forwards after less than a moment, face-down on the floorboards, gasping and gagging. She couldn’t even hold herself up for a moment, that was how weak she was now; Myka almost wanted to cry for her, but she didn’t because she knew (from more experience than she’d ever admit to) that it simply wouldn’t help. Not Claudia, not Steve, not herself. It wouldn’t help anyone, and so she fought down the impulse and waited for Claudia to find strength enough within her to answer the question Myka shouldn’t have needed to ask at all.

“Dunno...” she forced out eventually. “Feels like...” She shook her head, body wracked with another low whimper. “...can’t even describe it.”

Myka couldn’t help herself; if she didn’t try to bring some levity to this soul-destroying moment, she would lose her mind. “Like getting hit in the balls?” she suggested wanly.

Claudia tried to laugh, but the sound twisted itself up into a wet choking sound before the amusement had a chance to manifest at all. “Wouldn’t know,” she managed. “Have to... have to ask Steve... when we get back home.”

Myka winced at that. “Claud...”

Apparently misreading the strain in her voice as concern, Claudia gave another loud cough. “I’m okay,” she insisted shakily. “Just... just gimme a minute, ’kay?”

“Sure.” Myka let her hand rest on the wire-tight muscles at her back, and hoped that would be support enough. “I’m right here if you need anything.”

They stayed like that for a while, Claudia twitching and heaving and Myka just kneeling there and feeling useless until, at long last, the pain seemed to subside just enough for Claudia to haul herself pseudo-upright (or, well, into a half-crouch, anyway), and actually stay there for more than half a second.

“Damn,” she mumbled at the floor, breathing hard.

Myka swallowed. “You all right?”

Claudia shook her head, very carefully. “Feel sick,” she admitted, and Myka couldn’t help admiring her honesty. “God... what the hell even was that?”

Myka took a breath, hating herself for what she had to do. “Indigestion?” she offered lamely.

Claudia raised her head for just long enough to shoot her an incredulous scowl, then let it drop back down with a low groan. “Are you kidding?”

“Well, you know...” Myka floundered pathetically. “If you will insist on ordering all that exotic Japanese cuisine while we’re here...”

“It was just sushi!” Claudia whined. “We get that back home! God, Myka!”

She clearly wanted to keep going, to voice her disdain over and over and over until Myka conceded that maybe it wasn’t the brightest suggestion in the universe, but it was pretty obvious that she still hadn’t recovered enough, because she barely managed to get out another word before she was hunching over again, her breath heavy and laboured. Myka sighed softly, and pressed down on her back, a light touch that offered more than it was capable of actually giving, while she waited for the moment to pass.

“Take it easy, Claud...”

“Easy for you, maybe.”

“Claudia.”

Grunting her acknowledgement of the point, and still in obvious distress, Claudia leaned carefully back until she was mostly kneeling. “This is... this is getting so old...”

Myka tried to keep her face expressionless, her voice even and casual as she asked, “Has this been happening a lot?”

“Couple times,” Claudia confessed, not looking at her. “When Pete and I were in... when we were in Connecticut, y’know, with Hugo... I had a... there was a...” She trailed off, apparently realising how close she was skirting to ‘opening up’, and waved a trembling hand; Myka was glad her hands were still at Claudia’s back, because she was fairly sure they were trembling now too. “Y’know what? Never mind. Was probably nothin’. Look, Myka, could you...” She flushed a little, and gestured faintly towards the bathroom. “I gotta... uh... and I don’t... uhm, I’m not sure I can... y’know... walk.” She shifted a little, and Myka watched as she bit back a mewl of discomfort. “Or, uh... stand...”

Myka smiled; that was the Claudia she knew, stubborn and sulky even when she was asking for help. “Sure,” she said, and slung a supporting arm across her shoulders. “C’mon...”

Ever the diplomat, she made a point of not acknowledging the way that Claudia turned even paler than she already was when they got her onto her feet, or the way that, when she reflexively clamped one hand over her mouth, the other shot down in a markedly more southerly direction. And she definitely, definitely didn’t acknowledge the inescapably guy-like way that she was limping.

“You okay?” she asked when they reached the threshold, probably trying a little too hard to keep her face neutral. “You need any, uh, help?”

Claudia made a disgusted noise somewhere in the back of her throat. “Pretty sure I can handle it from here, thanks,” she retorted, though she didn’t look as sure as she sounded.

“Okay,” Myka said, and patted her shoulder. “Just call me if you need anything.”

She waited for the click of the door, ears pricked up for the sound of a body hitting the floor, or anything else that might suggest a need for immediate intervention, and, when nothing came, sank down to the floor and lowered her head into her hands.

This was not what she’d signed up for.

It wasn’t that she minded taking care of Claudia, at least not exactly. But this was different. This was really, horribly, brutally different. It was nothing like what either of them were used to, nothing like a busted collarbone or a skinned knee or a case of boxer’s knuckle. Hell, even an impromptu swim in a vat full of combustion-inducing poison didn’t come close to this. This was just plain cruel. By any standards, on any level, and not just for Claudia having to suffer in agony without knowing why or where it was coming from. It was cruel for Myka, too, burdened with that knowledge but not able to share it.

Watching Claudia’s pain was one thing, and that in itself would have been bad enough... but watching her fear as well, seeing how terrified she was, and knowing that she couldn’t take that away (no, far worse than that, that she _could_ take it away, but wasn’t _allowed_ to)? It was unfair beyond words.

It wouldn’t have been so difficult, she supposed, if she was any good at this sort of thing in the first place. Sure, she could wrap up a training injury or give fencing pointers... but that was not the same as empathy.

That was Pete’s thing. It always came so freaking easily to him, looking after Claudia when she needed it (even when she didn’t want it), and Myka envied that in him. She didn’t envy Pete often, but she did for that.

Because she wanted it too. She didn’t give a damn about his vibes or his ‘mad eating skillz’ or his faultless intuition. No, she had her own talents to counteract any one of those... well, except maybe the eating thing, but somehow she’d managed to sleep okay without that. But his empathy, and specifically his empathy with Claudia? Yeah, she wanted that. She wanted to be the kind of sister-figure that someone like Claudia needed in her life. She wanted to fit into that support network, that circuit of heart and soul that everyone else seemed to find their place in so neatly.

But she didn’t. As much as she wanted to, she just didn’t... at least, not without a whole lot of work, and it was times like this – when Claudia really, really needed someone who knew what they were doing – that she really wished she did.

She didn’t want this mess to be about her. She wanted it to be about the thing it really was about – Claudia and Steve and the trouble they were in. But it kind of was about her now, too, because she knew about it. She knew, and Claudia didn’t, and as desperately as she wanted to change that, that was the way it would have to be for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t her place to change this particular status quo, even as that hateful knowledge tore at her from all sides. So, yeah, as much as she wanted to keep a safe distance from the issues – to focus on the pain and forget the rest – she couldn’t. And that was the really, really hard part.

Pete would know what to do. He’d know how to walk the tightrope of forbidden knowledge and heartfelt empathy, to say the right thing without saying what was true. He’d know how to handle Claudia right now, scared and confused and wracked by agony in places that she didn’t even have. Hell, he even had first-hand knowledge of the pain in question, another thing that Myka never would. So, yeah, Pete would have been perfect for this, perfect for Claudia, perfect for everything... but he wasn’t here. And Myka had only her own wits to depend upon, her own self to guide her, so of course she was doomed.

There was no conceivable way that this would end any way other than badly.

A few minutes passed, stretched out and tense, and still Claudia didn’t emerge from the bathroom. Myka waited what she thought (or, rather, hoped) was a respectable amount of time, then knocked on the door with a kind of tentative nervousness that really was not acceptable on a senior agent.

“Claud? You okay in there?”

There was (worryingly, if somewhat predictably) still no response, so Myka pushed the door open just far enough to slip quietly inside.

Claudia was leaning against the sink, pale and sweaty, bracing awkwardly with one hand and using the other to splash her face with water. She didn’t look well, but that was pretty understandable given the circumstance. Rather more serious, at least from where Myka was standing, was the fact that she looked really, really scared.

“Hey Claud...”

“’Sup, Myka?”

She sounded hopelessly helpless, smaller than she’d sounded in a very long time, and, acting entirely with the kind of instinct she was so sure she didn’t have, Myka pulled her away from the sink and into a fast embrace. Claudia’s entire body buckled, almost falling into her arms, and Myka realised that far more worrying than the way she looked was the way she didn’t even try to pull away.

“What if there’s something really wrong with me?” she mumbled instead, the words a rushed stream of breath against Myka’s shoulder. “What if I’m, like, really sick or something?”

“You’re not,” Myka told her, much too quickly to even try to be subtle.

“How do you know?” Claudia asked.

The question rippled sorrowfully in the lack of space between them. It wasn’t laced with her usual juvenile aggression, didn’t hold the kind of childish petulance that she wielded so well, and that Myka would have expected, bitterness gritted out through clenched teeth because how dare anyone try and call her on something? No... this was a plea, shivery and almost hopeful. Oh, the hope was carefully guarded, of course, just like everything else she felt, but it was there just the same, and it was undeniable. She wanted to believe it. She wanted so desperately to believe it that she didn’t even care whether the unwavering certainty in Myka’s voice might have held a deeper meaning than the words it shaped so effortfully.

“Claud...” Myka sighed, and tried to rein it in. “You... you’ve been through a lot. You’ve...”

“Yeah, well, so have you,” Claudia interjected, almost bitterly. “Don’t see you having panic attacks every time you go out into the field.”

Myka pulled back then; she kept her hands at her back, just in case Claudia still needed support, and studied her face very closely. “Is that what you think they are?” she asked, cautious. “Panic attacks?”

Claudia shrugged. “Kinda makes sense, right? I mean, we were in the field when Steve... when...” She shook the thought off with a full-body shudder. “And, anyway, isn’t that what they’re meant to feel like? Like you’ve been punched in the gut, and your whole body just... and you... you can’t... you can’t breathe...” She swallowed hard; Myka felt her back spasm under her hands, and shut her eyes against it. “That’s what they feel like, right?”

Myka hated this. She really, really hated it. “Claud...”

“I know it sounds crazy,” Claudia sighed. “I know it sounds like I’m losing it... like I’m...” She trailed off again, and Myka could’ve sworn she heard the hitch of something like a sob in the heartbeat before it was caught and cast away. “Hell, maybe I am. I dunno.”

Myka’s throat tightened, and for a very long moment she didn’t say anything. All the reassurances that she wanted to offer died unspoken in the space between her teeth and her tongue, and the silence rang out like a death knell in the air between them. She couldn’t fill it, couldn’t voice those reassurances, however much relief she knew they’d bring to the young woman shaking in front of her. She couldn’t say anything, because everything she wanted to say began and ended with Steve’s name.

She ached, on a level that was almost physical, to take a long step back, look Claudia right in the eye and tell her beyond all doubt that she would be all right, that all the phantom pain and breathlessness and fear made perfect sense if she knew the context of it all, that she wasn’t sick or panicking or crazy. She wanted to take her trauma away, to lock it up and throw away the key... but the only box she had to put it in was the truth, and she wasn’t allowed to open that.

“Claud,” she said again, but she had nothing else to say, and it didn’t matter anyway because she’d left it too long and Claudia was through with waiting.

“It’s fine,” she mumbled. Every inch of her was tight, hunched with a dejected kind of sorrow that so desperately wanted to be defiance, and Myka willed herself not to stare as her hands slid down, reflexively seeking out the source of her non-existent injury. “Don’t worry about it, Myka. It’s fine.”

“It _is_ fine!” Myka echoed hopelessly, but it wasn’t enough. “Claud, trust me. Okay? Trust me. It’s okay. It’s all okay. _You’re_ okay.” Against her best efforts, she gave up the fight and let her eyes dart southwards, watching with a sympathetic grimace as Claudia held herself with both hands, awkward and self-conscious but clearly still in too much pain to care whether it was socially acceptable or not. She coughed delicately. “Or, well... you will be after a couple hours with an ice-pack.”

Claudia looked close to tears, though Myka couldn’t tell whether that was the product of pain or frustration. “What if it happens when we’re undercover?” she asked softly. “What then?”

“It won’t,” Myka promised, and had to bite her tongue to keep from adding _‘...if Steve knows what’s good for him’_.

“But how do you know that?” Claudia demanded. “I can’t... Myka, when it happens, it’s...” She sucked down a breath, held it for a beat or two, then let it out shakily. “I can’t stop it. It’s like I’m not in control, like it’s not even me at all, like... like my body just...” She closed her eyes, and the terror on her face was a razor to Myka’s heart. “It’s not me, Myka. It’s not _me_.”

“Claudia!” There was a rough edge in Myka’s tone, a detached coldness that didn’t match at all what she was feeling. “Stop it. Just stop, okay? Stop. You want to know the easiest way to screw up on an undercover mission?” Claudia made an affirmative noise, but didn’t speak. “You do exactly what you’re doing right now. You get distracted by little pointless things that don’t matter, and you let them freak you out and make you panic so much that you psyche yourself out. That’s how screw-ups happen, Claud. That’s how agents get killed.”

“But...”

“No!”

Her voice was getting louder, harsher, more aggressive... and suddenly, Myka was watching herself from somewhere up on the ceiling, shouting soundlessly down at her body as it coiled itself up like a snake ready to pounce, all focus and precision and the kind of professionalism that was exactly why she wished Pete was here instead. She wanted to make herself stop, to tell herself that this wasn’t helping, that, if she kept going down this path, it would lead in exactly the wrong direction, that this was the worst possible moment for her unique breed of so-called compassion. She tried so hard to break through to herself, to make herself stop, but it was impossible, and she could only watch, dissociated and out-of-body as she lined her own grave, and Claudia’s along with it.

But it wasn’t her fault. At least, not really. Because she was in pain as well. She was. And she’d been pushed to her limit too, just as much as Claudia had. Fact was, she could no more endure the pain of seeing Claudia look so heartbreakingly scared, so lost and broken, than Claudia could endure the pain of her phantom Y-chromosome. So she had to do something, had to break them both away from this never-ending Mobius Strip of trauma, this twisted-up path that led to nowhere from a thousand different directions. It was too much, too much pain and too much fear and too much of all those terrible things, too much temptation to wipe it all away and too much weight bearing down on her with the knowledge that she couldn’t. Her professionalism... her focus, her stoicism, the very worst and the very best of all that she was... it was all that she had left.

She knew it wouldn’t help, but they were both so close to drowning in helplessness already... so horribly, tragically close...

“No,” she said again. “No, Claud.” The resolve reverberated off the walls, amplifying. “I’m not going to let you sabotage yourself. You’re going to be in this, and you’re going to get your head in the game, and you’re not going to let this stuff stop you from doing your job. I’m not going to let you... and, y’know what? I don’t think you’re going to let yourself either.” Claudia was starting to look a little like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car, startled and dazed, but a little less scared now that there was something tangible to focus on. Myka held on to that look, willed it to stay until it subsumed the fear entirely. “I know you, Claud. Maybe not like Steve knows you, or Artie, but I know you. And whatever might be happening to you, whatever the circumstances... you wouldn’t let yourself screw up a mission. And you sure as hell wouldn’t let yourself screw one up over something like this. Not over...”

Too late, she realised what she was about to say – proof positive that she did know Claudia, and that she knew exactly how to hurt her the most – but the words were out, tainting the air before she had a chance to stop them.

“...not over something that’s probably all in your head.”

It was the worst thing anyone could have said to somebody like Claudia, someone who struggled on a daily basis with what might or might not be ‘all in her head’, who had spent so much of her life afraid of that very thing. Myka knew all about it, knew the danger in lighting that fuse, knew how stupid it was. It was probably the only thing that she knew better than Steve or Artie, better than anyone, the only one of all Claudia’s demons that she alone was allowed to see. And she knew that. She knew that... but she couldn’t take the words back now, and she couldn’t undo the way that Claudia’s face had crumpled almost before the words were even out, her body twisting up and doubling over with a completely new kind of pain as her knees buckled once more beneath her.

Myka went down with her, supporting her because it was the least she could do; she opened her mouth, an apology thick and heavy on her lips, but she could tell that Claudia didn’t want to hear it. Her eyes were open again, wide and wet and dark, and all Myka could see in them was the horror-stricken reflection of her own face.

“So you do think it’s all in my head,” Claudia said.

Myka groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that, Claud. I swear. I would never... I only meant...”

She trailed off, thoroughly pathetic, but Claudia, quite understandably, had no intention of letting the matter drop now. “What?” she asked, and it was obvious – tragically obvious – that she wanted so desperately to be angry, but all she could muster was hurt. “What did you mean?”

“It’s not...” Myka sighed, took a breath, struggled to find a way out of this six-foot hole she’d dug for herself. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, and I’m not... I’m not saying you’re crazy, Claud. You’re not. I’m just... I’m just saying... I just mean...” She leaned back, tried to catch Claudia’s eyes, to make contact with the soul behind them. “Look, if you let yourself freak out over this, it’ll only get worse. That’s what panic does.” The lie tasted bitter, but she could see Steve’s face imprinted like a photo-negative on her mind’s eye, and his gratitude crossed the miles between them as though they were both in the same room, fortifying her. “It will cripple you, Claud, if you let it. So you have to stop. You have to rise above it.”

“But I—”

“I know.”

She’d meant it as a reassurance, but it didn’t come out that way at all. It was an interruption, cold and calloused, a meaningless phrase thrown out just to keep Claudia from talking, to keep them both up against the solid wall of necessary professionalism. It felt even worse than the lie, thick and chalky on her tongue, but she had to do it. By force, but she had to. She couldn't let Claudia keep feeling what she was, because she couldn’t keep feeling it either. So she had to break her, break them both, break this all apart and leave behind only the cracked bones of their mission.

“You’re scared. You’re confused. You don’t understand what you’re feeling, or why. I get that, Claud. I really do. But we’re in a line of work where that kind of unexplained weirdness happens all the time. It’s part of the job. Hell, it’s part of life.”

Claudia turned her face away, but that didn’t shield Myka from the conflict playing out across her features, the ache to do as she was told – to be brave and strong, to impress Myka (because, as much as she’d grown in three years, some habits died hard, if they ever died at all, and that one wasn’t going anywhere) – waging war against the uncontrollable fear of that unknown thing inside her. Myka wanted to reach out, to guide her, to ease her into the role that they both knew she’d have to take, gently and with compassion... but she didn’t, because she couldn’t. Because compassion was still so alien to her, because she still couldn’t be what Claudia needed, because she could still see Steve’s face in her mind begging her to keep his terrible secret. Most of all, because she was so very afraid of causing even more damage.

She was constantly struggling against herself, it seemed. In her mind’s eye, she saw it as clear as daylight, herself in that perfect big-sister role... but in practice, the only sense she ever made was when she was talking about the job. And that was more true now, what with Steve’s secret hanging on the air between them like motes of dust, catching and refracting the light until it bent into something different, than it had ever been before. So, as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t risk hurting Claudia more than she already was, couldn’t risk bringing back that terrified look, those wide eyes, couldn’t risk waking the demons in her mind with more badly-timed suggestions, however unintentional, that maybe she really was crazy. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t give herself an opening to do that.

All she could do was be there, be grounded and tethered and focused, and hope that Claudia would take what she needed without her having to give it.

“I know...” Claudia said, after a very long moment, and the pride that swelled in Myka’s chest overpowered even the relief at seeing that her would-be guidance might not be needed after all. “I’m sorry, Myka.”

“Don’t be.” This was familiar territory. She was comfortable here. “It’s scary, losing control like that and not knowing why. I do understand, Claud, believe me. But you have to break past it. This job isn’t going to sit around and wait for you to stop panicking. We both know that it’ll just do everything it can to make it worse. So you have to be bigger than it is.”

Claudia was still looking anywhere except at her. “Yeah...”

The unsteadiness in her tone, the tremors in her body, every last vulnerable part of her made Myka ache, and she took her face in both of her hands, forcing their eyes to lock. “Claudia.”

“Yeah, I know.” She sighed. “You’re right. I just... I just feel so freakin’ helpless. Y’know?”

“I know,” Myka affirmed quietly. (And she did; she really, really did). “But trust yourself.” She smiled, warm and sincere, the gesture drenched in raw faith. “I do.”

“You trust me?”

Myka nodded, without so much as a moment’s hesitation. “Yeah. I do.”

“Even if it’s all in my head?”

“Even if it’s all in your head.”

Claudia’s entire frame relaxed (at least, as much as it was able to relax at all, given its existing discomfort), and she leaned effortfully back. “Awesome.” 

“Focus on the mission,” Myka said. “Forget about the rest.”

It was only when Claudia nodded, mumbling a shaky but determined “okay...”, that Myka realised the words weren’t meant for her.


End file.
